


Trying

by GinnyBadWolf



Category: The West Wing
Genre: Angst, Fluff, I HAVE ONLY SEEN SEASON 1 SO FAR SO THAT IS THE INFORMATION I AM WRITING OFF OF, I'll change the warnings if it gets smutty I swear, M/M, May add some characters or tags as I finish, Slow Build, Slow Burn, THIS IS AS OF SEASON 1, Takes place in season 1, Work In Progress, friends with benefits?, leave kudos or comments if you want me to continue thanks!, maybe some smut, probably will end up being somewhere between five and ten chapters depending on how i feel about it, we'll see how it goes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-16
Updated: 2017-02-16
Packaged: 2018-09-24 20:18:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9784700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GinnyBadWolf/pseuds/GinnyBadWolf
Summary: Josh and Sam work together every day, see each other every day, spend time together every day. Spending that much time with a person is a sure way to grow affection for them - slowly, though, every day just a little bit more until they look back and wonder, "When did I start loving him so much?"Season 1 Fic, based off of what we've been given in Season 1. Work in Progress!





	

“God dammit, Lyman, you’ve got to work with me here!” Sam spits, running one distracted hand through his hair and taking off his glasses. He turns away and pinches the bridge of his nose. The man in question sighs and rubs a hand on his face, and moves from his place leaning against the desk. 

 

“Look, Sam, I’m doing the best I can. This is my breaking point. All this… It’s just… hard.” He says, almost uncharacteristically quiet. Sam lets go of his nose and looks at Josh out of the side of his eye. There are heavy bags underneath Josh’s exhausted eyes, and weak moonlight falls in lines on his face, covered in part by shutters. He looks tired, not to mention sad, and it seems out of place. Well, almost - Sam has been getting more and more used to seeing that particular brand of emotions personified on Josh the longer they’ve been working in the White House. 

 

Sam sighs as well and turns to face Josh, placing his glasses on Josh’s desk. “I know, Josh. It’s - really hard to, to - hear these awful things. I just want to help them, god knows I do, but every time we make a move it’s blocked by the goddamn Republicans. I know we can help these people, Josh, I - god!” He waves his arms and then drops them, and restarts. “Even if it sucks, we have to do it.” Josh takes a step closer to Sam. 

 

“But I don’t even know why we have to do it,” Josh breathes. 

 

Sam crosses his arms loosely and shifts so that he stands with his shoulder adjacent to Josh’s. He looks at the ceiling, then the floor. “Me either, really. But the President wants us to, and we should get back to work.” There’s a pause. “You know we should.” 

 

Josh’s shoulders sag and he takes a long breath in his own, Josh-y sign of resignation. He rounds the desk and takes the phone, pressing buttons and waiting for the call to be picked up. Sam’s phone, which he moved into Josh’s office so they could work together, is on the other side of the desk. He sits down and dials the number as well. 

 

It’s essentially a big block of cheese day, but over the phone. And worse, because these aren’t prepared professionals - they’re regular people, who have nobody else to turn to with their sob stories except for the government for hope that they might get some help. Usually the last people to do this sort of thing would be the White House staff, but it’s a public event that was coordinated to show that they’re working on public outreach. And it’s depressing as hell. 

 

A lot of people call to yell at them. Those are the easy ones. But a lot also come to tell them about how their husband died because the insurance company screwed them over, or that their son died on the streets because of gun violence, or a hurricane destroyed their family home and they have nothing left, and more than a few have left Sam in tears. 

 

Josh had slammed down his phone and stood up, declaring loudly that he was no longer interested in doing this. Which leads them to back where they are, restarting thankless and saddening work that they’ve been doing after hours, too many hours for the past week. 

 

CJ, Toby, Leo, the President and most of the staff has been working on this as well. The week is almost over, and so is their suffering, but everyone is tired of no sleep and tired of being sad. 

 

Josh puts down the phone again, and takes a moment to look at Sam who’s listening to a mother describe how her son is being bullied - verbally and physically - for being black. They make eye contact, and Sam’s heart skips a beat. Josh’s eyes are shining with tears. Sam cannot say that his are entirely dry, either. It’s grueling, tough work, and Josh does not want to do it. Neither of them do. Nobody does, but these people deserve to have their stories heard. 

 

The woman over the phone finishes her story. Sam, still looking at Josh, answers her. “Lydia, I am so sorry. I -” He bites back a legitimate sob at the things she told him - “I will do the best I can to help your son. The President will hear about this story, I promise you.” He puts a tally mark on a piece of paper full of other tally marks and takes a moment to calm himself, upset at how thick his voice is. He sniffs, and then reassembles. “Do you have anything else you’d like to tell me?” He puts out, trying to stay calm. Josh keeps looking at him. 

 

Lydia is silent for a while. “No, I don’t think I do.” She says quietly, and hangs up. Sam sighs and puts down the phone, diverting his eyes for a moment. When he looks back at Josh, the man in question is out of his chair again. 

 

Sam grunts in frustration and gets up as well. “Josh, what did I just say, we have to do thi-” He is interrupted by suddenly being enveloped in Josh’s arms. 

 

His heartbeat increases so rapidly he thinks he should be concerned. A blush stains his cheeks as the taller man shifts down to rest his head on his shoulder. “Josh?” He whispers. 

 

Josh holds him a little closer, and Sam thanks god that he can’t hear his heart beating through his shoulder. “Yeah?” He says, voice thick with tears. 

 

Sam moves his arms so that he holds Josh as well. “You okay?”

 

Josh shakes his head. “You know I’m not. I just do not want to do this.” 

 

Sam sighs. “I don’t either. We just had this conversation, Josh.” He says with a small, humorous lilt to his voice. He isn’t upset about a repeat if it gives him this, however. 

 

Josh pulls away, though his hands stay loosely draped around Sam’s waist. “I know. But I thought a little affection might make you sympathize…?” He says with an uncertain, teasing smile. 

 

Sam melts a little. “I already sympathize, Josh. This is really, really hard for me too. But it’s got to get done, you know that.” It takes a moment for Sam to realize that the position they are in looks almost undeniably romantic - Sam’s hands on Josh’s shoulders, Josh’s hands on Sam’s waist - and pulls away quickly, turning his head and coughing into his hand inconspicuously. Josh gives him a look as he continues to cough a bit more, and then Sam looks back at him with watery eyes. He rubs his windpipe, looks away, and sits back down to do a bit more of the grueling work.

 

It’s a few hours later when they finally do leave. Sam stands up and stretches, about to grab some coffee for him and Josh, when he stumbles. Gray fuzz invades his visions, making it into a tunnel, and he grabs the chair to steady himself. Josh looks at him, on a call, and then goes back to what he’s doing. Then he does a double take and realizes that Sam is rather pale, and quickly wraps up the phone call. 

 

“Sam, you okay?” Josh says, looking fairly concerned.

 

Sam nods, the movement causing his already aching head to throb twice. “Y-yep. Just fine,” He mumbles, moving for the door. He stumbles again and grips the doorknob, breathing heavily. Josh stands at this and crosses the room, looking at Sam. 

 

Sam’s cheeks are flushed and his eyes must look feverish, because Josh frowns. “Alright, you sit down. I’m gonna go talk to CJ, and then we’re gonna bring you home. Sound good?” 

 

Sam shakes his head, the action invoking more pain. “No, no, I’m - fine.” He says with only a bit of trouble. Josh puts his hand on Sam’s forehead. Sam’s stomach flutters at the contact, and he half-heartedly curses himself for it. Josh then frowns some more. 

 

“You definitely have a fever, you absolute idiot. I’m bringing you home right now. Grab your coat.” Sam doesn’t move. Josh gives him another one of his looks. “Sam,” He warns, and Sam takes it off the stand and holds it, but doesn’t put it on just yet. Josh wraps an arm around Sam’s shoulders and opens the door.

 

They walk down the hallway, turning the heads of a few people on the phone. Finally, when they reach CJ’s office, Sam leans against the wall just outside of the room and Josh opens the door. CJ looks up from where she’s dialing a number on the phone and watches him confusedly. “What?” She says, nonplussed. 

 

“Sam’s sick. I’m taking him home.” She levels a stern gaze at him. 

 

“And how do I know you’re not making this up to get out of the public outreach project?” 

 

Josh grabs Sam by the arm and yanks him, as gently as one can yank, into the room. “Look at the guy.” Sam attempts to straighten up and look as healthy as he can in the hopes that  she’ll tell them to get back to work, because this  _ is  _ really important and he is  _ not  _ sick. Not sick at all. No sir. Very healthy over here, thank you very much. 

 

She nods. “Fair enough. Sam, you’ll have the day off tomorrow if you need it. I’ll tell Leo.” 

 

Josh nods in return and walks out with Sam in tow, still held by the arm. Sam struggles a bit in his grasp. “I won’t need it!” Sam calls back belatedly, already being mostly dragged down the hallway. He’s alarmed at the rough sound of his own voice. 

  
“Yes you will!” He hears CJ yell back faintly, and he sighs, finally allowing himself to be manhandled.


End file.
